


Sticks and Stones

by Slasherholic



Category: Halloween (1978), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-22 08:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17056331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slasherholic/pseuds/Slasherholic
Summary: When it comes to emotion, Michael Myers plays his cards very close to his chest. The reader discovers what it takes to push Michael over the edge.





	Sticks and Stones

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty! This was just a quick tumblr request, but I liked the way that it turned out, so I'm posting it here 'cause why not.

How could you possibly hurt somebody as utterly indifferent as Michael? You more than anyone should have recognized the futility in your actions, should have realized this unwavering truth before you had even opened your mouth.

But that did not stop you from trying; and, oh, how you had _tried._ You had screamed at the rigid figure until your face went beet-red and your words had slurred together into a flurry of venomous insults, a volley of cutting daggers, which you spewed blindly, aiming to maim and wound and _hurt._

And one by one, each jab had shattered like fragile glass against Michael’s impenetrable wall of complete and utter indifference, until your ammunition had run dry, your anger at last spent, and you collapsed in defeat to the clammy floor a shuddering, sobbing, gasping wreck.

And through it all, Michael- resolute in his deathly stillness- had towered over you, assuming an air of complete and total removal as though you were nothing more than a bratty child whose temper tantrum had yet to run its course. 

You hated that the most about Michael, you decided, when at last your sobbing had waned to a steady, silent trickle, and you were plucked like a doll from the cold floor, swept limply into his strong arms.

More than his stubborn, steadfast wordlessness, more than his blatant disregard for your frustrated tears; more than anything, you hated that you could not hurt Michael. You hated the ease at which he shrugged away your each and every insult, no matter how calculated, how cutting, how concise.

And as he laid you down with infuriating tenderness across the covers of your too-warm bed, as he pivoted on his heel and made for the door in unhurried strides, you hated the words which bubbled hoarsely up your ravaged throat, the words which finally, finally, stopped him in his tracks.

_“I’ve been seeing someone.”_

And Michael froze.

And his shoulders grew taut, and his knuckles turned white, and just like that, you knew that you had done it.

And you hated yourself for it.

But the words flowed freely, now, and your feeble illusion of self-control spilled out along with the steady stream of spiteful lies. 

You ripped into Michael with everything you had.

_“I’ve been seeing someone, Michael, and we’ve been together for months, and it’s been happening right here- right on this bed.”_

Your every word hit its mark with deadly accuracy and burned deeper into Michael than any bullet ever had; but still you did not stop, not even as Michael turned slowly, dangerously, to stare at you with darkening eyes, his glare never reaching you under the shadow of his mask.

_“Do you get it, Michael? I’m leaving you, because you don’t deserve me, and you never will, and I’d rather be dead than suffer through one more night of-“_

But those last stinging words never left your lips, never hammered the final nail into the coffin; because then Michael was upon you, on the bed, seizing your hands in his iron grasp and wrenching your body against his, and you had gone too far.

And even as the burning tears sprung again to threaten your eyes, you knew better than to fight him, because it was hopeless. Michael would take what he wanted, and no amount of kicking or thrashing or screaming bloody murder was going to change that.

But as soon as you had surrendered, allowed him to pull you possessively into his broad chest, Michael’s momentary surge of primal, seething fury had begun to dissipate, his flustered breaths quieting, and like a dying star, he had burned himself out.

Still, Michael did not let you go. He held you ever tighter to his body as he sank further into the bed, his rough hands at your wrists and his thick arms taut around your waist, as if he feared the thought of loosening his grip even for a second, lest you slip through his fingers and disappear into the night.

You caught his implications well enough, and did not need to meet his eyes to know, without a shred of doubt, that you weren’t going anywhere; you were his, and his alone.

And if your reckless lie had any truth to it at all, if there was indeed another, well-

There wouldn’t be for long.


End file.
